


maybe i'd like you better (if you took off your clothes)

by SoLimited



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Slow Burn, i'm not sure how slow this burn will be, medium burn? idk they'll figure it out eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:15:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29323038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoLimited/pseuds/SoLimited
Summary: Korra hates Asami, and Asami just wants to survive senior year unscathed. Korra, however, won't make that easy.
Relationships: Korra/Asami Sato, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 163





	1. Luck is a Cruel Mistress

**Author's Note:**

> hello there! i've had this idea in my head for a while so i thought i would share it with you lovely people. thanks for giving it a shot, i really appreciate it even if you don't end up liking it. btw this is mostly rated M because "fuck" is my favorite word and also maybe for some stuff later.
> 
> for reference, Korra is 5’7 and Asami is 5’10 according to wiki
> 
> title from "If You're Too Shy (Let Me Know)" by the 1975
> 
> and, finally, thank you so much to my friend moony_dearc4 for reading this through and hyping me up

Asami hates the locker room.

She had hated the locker room since she first realized that the reason for her flushed cheeks wasn’t embarrassment from her own languid, prepubescent body but rather from having caught herself staring at Korra’s _stupidly_ attractive back. Several times. More than was acceptable (not that even staring at a half-naked girl whilst she is unaware is acceptable once, and certainly not every day for the entirety of freshman year). Luckily for Asami, her and Korra didn’t cross paths often, much less in the locker room. So when Asami sees that she has fifth period leading for the freshmen gym classes, she doesn’t think much of it. Sure, freshmen are annoying, but she’s a senior now. They’ll respect her. Or, they better, for their sake.

And when she walks into the gymnasium to see Coach Tenzin talking with the other leader, she doesn’t think much of it. Tenzin has tons of classes, and there are tons of people signed up for the leadership program.

And when she genially shouts, “Hey, Coach, I’m gonna go get changed!” across the floor she doesn’t think much of how Tenzin awkwardly spins around, a grimace etched into his face as he waves her on. She doesn’t think much of how he completely blocks the other leader from sight, as if on purpose.

She should’ve thought something about it. She should have thought a lot about it, actually, because luck is a cruel mistress.

Halfway through changing, with her shirt discarded on the floor, the other leader comes into the locker room. Asami can tell by the way the freshmen, who had previously been screaming the lyrics to some obscene pop song, suddenly quiet. Back still turned, Asami finishes changing quickly. One perk about being a leader is getting a locker in the seclusion of the back corner farthest away from the bathrooms. She doesn’t have to worry about violating some poor girl’s privacy by merely existing in the same room as her while changing.

The back corner, Asami soon discovers, is a perk for several other reasons, one of which being it does a nice job of hiding the shocked gasp that falls from her lips when she turns to discover the other leader is none other than Korra. Because, of course it is.

Asami tries, and fails, to sneak past Korra without gaining her attention. Emphasis on fails, because the second she realizes Korra is shirtless and still, unbelievably, has that _stupidly_ attractive back, Asami trips. Face first. Into Korra’s aforementioned and dearly adored back.

Korra slams into her locker but somehow manages to catch Asami and limit the damage that might have otherwise occurred. An apology is already slipping past her lips, but when Korra realizes exactly who fell into her, the apology swiftly dies. Too busy focusing on the sculpted muscles of Korra’s body, and the easy way with which she holds them both up, Asami almost misses it when unbridled rage flashes across Korra’s face. Almost. Asami supposes she deserves the other girl’s hate.

A few important notes on Korra and Asami’s relationship:

  1. Since freshman gym class, they have run into each other exactly twice.
  2. The first time was when Asami nearly ran over Korra with her motorcycle.
  3. The second time was when Asami watched Korra get ejected from last year’s basketball state finals. The reason for said ejection just so happened to be that Korra saw Asami kiss her boyfriend. Asami had tried to explain that she didn’t know they were dating, not that it made much difference to Korra. With heated anger, Korra had body-slammed the opposing team’s point guard, shattering the girl’s collarbone and effectively losing the game (because everyone knows the basketball team is nothing without their star player).
  4. Hence, Korra still hates Asami. (It should be noted that the entire school is aware of their... _situation_...which also explains Tenzin’s odd greeting.)



Asami is quickly shoved into the lockers behind her. Korra doesn’t even bother putting her shirt on, is already cornering Asami, is already geared up to fight. 

“The fuck are you doing, Sato?” Korra spits in her face.

Asami, deciding honesty, or at the very least half-baked honesty, is the best policy, replies with, “Trying to walk around you.”

That, apparently, is not the answer Korra was looking for. Despite already being flush against the lockers, Korra digs both her palms into Asami’s shoulders. Her back makes a hollow _ping_ as it slams against the locker yet again. “You better watch yourself. Don’t think I’ve forgotten last year.”

“I would never.”

Korra crowds her even more, in what Asami assumes is supposed to be a menacing fashion, but is really just distracting. Her arms, still firmly pinning Asami to the locker, have no right to be that defined. Korra may be an athlete, but she’s a high school athlete, and that certainly doesn’t warrant the level of strength on display. Asami, in her right mind, would be scared of Korra like this: all jacked up and fully prepared to end Asami right then and there. However, she doesn’t have it in her to feel fear when such a devastatingly beautiful girl stands in front of her. 

“Are you even listening to me?” Korra sneers.

Absently, Asami replies, “No.”

The bell rings in the hallway, but Korra doesn’t move. Dread drops like an anvil in Asami’s stomach; she can’t be late on the first day, especially not to a class where she is expected to be a role model. Korra, it seems, doesn’t share that same apprehension.

“Korra, we have to get to class.”

A saccharine smile spreads across Korra’s face. “But I’m not done with you just yet.”

Asami, finally in her right mind, shrinks further into the locker. Her height advantage disappears, much to the amusement of Korra.

“Scared, Sato?”

A Sato never admits defeat, so she does the only thing she can think of. Asami pushes back against Korra, rising to her full height while simultaneously flipping their positions. Korra, for her part, seems shocked by the sudden switch in power.

Asami will admit that bending down to meet Korra’s eyes and drawing their faces mere inches apart is mostly for theatrics, but the look on Korra’s face is worth it. “You don’t scare me,” she murmurs threateningly, eyes darting to where Korra’s lips part. Moving back to her eyes, Asami is surprised to see not fear, but something else. Something she doesn’t quite understand. Korra’s supposed to hate Asami, right? So why does she look like that?

“Sato…” Korra’s voice is rough like she just woke up. Asami watches as Korra’s eyes drift down, feels her gaze _everywhere_. Distantly, a door swings open, but Asami is too distracted by the way her stomach drops to notice, too distracted by how it doesn’t bother her like it should. She’s not sure who leans in—her or Korra—but it doesn’t matter. Not when Korra’s hand is on her hip, not when she’s hot all over, not when their lips are this close. If Asami tilts her head just a little, she could easily be kissing Korra. It’s that simple. They’re so close, almost—

“Girls!” Coach Tenzin’s voice erupts from somewhere to the left. Asami stumbles backward, eyes now locked on the ground. “Is everything alright in here?”

“Um, yeah Coach, everything’s good.” Asami stares anywhere but Korra.

Tenzin nods. “We need to get class started,” he says before promptly exiting the room.

When Asami glances up, Korra is already looking at her. She corrects her stilted composure so quickly Asami isn’t sure she even saw it. A glare graces her features yet again as she says, “Stay out of my way, Sato.” Korra grabs her shirt, slipping it over her head as she strides out of the room, a picture of poise.

“No problem,” Asami mutters to no one. She walks out of the locker room, praying to whatever god may exist that this year goes by better than the last five minutes.

***

Coach Tenzin is going off on some tangent about the importance of exercise and teamwork, but Asami’s thoughts are racing too fast for his words to go anywhere but in one ear and out the other.

She almost kissed Korra. Korra almost _let_ her. What the hell? In what universe does someone you hate that much have that kind of effect on you? Asami has half a mind to ask Korra, to march up and demand an answer, one that she can neatly box up and tuck away in an obscure corner of her mind. She doesn’t, though, because nothing has changed. Not really, if the glares Korra keeps sending her are any indication. Asami never disliked Korra, per se, but it’s glaringly obvious to anyone else that Korra doesn’t feel the same. Asami tries her best to diffuse any animosity, but Korra is a bomb waiting to go off. Korra is also straight, which makes the incident that much more confusing. She’s still with her boyfriend (cheating bastard) as far as Asami is aware. Not that she keeps tabs on who Korra is or isn’t dating. Definitely not.

And so what if she wanted Korra to kiss her? Sue her. Korra has a nice body, even if her personality doesn’t exactly match. And Asami is a single, mildly touch-starved teenager. It doesn’t constitute feelings; she’s just horny. Yes, that’s it. Nobody _wants_ to kiss their mortal enemy (even if said enemy is fighting a one-sided battle). As Tenzin finishes his rant, Asami decides to label the incident as a one-off embodiment of her loneliness, as nothing serious. Satisfied with her mental gymnastics, Asami tucks that box deep down and focuses her attention on class.

“Alright class, since you are all changed, we are going to get to work,” Tenzin announces.

A few of the kids groan, but Korra’s face lights up. “Let’s play knock-out!” she shouts. That seems to sober up the freshmen, who are excited by the prospect of a game. Tenzin shakes his head, a fond smile flashing across his face before disappearing. He splits the class into groups of seven. Korra and Asami head to the closet to get eight basketballs, two for each group. Not a single word is uttered between them.

They return to find one group short two people. Tenzin gestures to the group and tells them to join. Asami wrings her fingers together, glancing at Korra to gauge her reaction. Korra, for the most part, seems unbothered. But Asami sees the tension in her shoulder, sees the way her jaw clenches and unclenches. This ought to be fun.

Being leaders, Korra and Asami naturally end up at the front of the line. Asami shoots first, the ball ricocheting weakly off the backboard.

Korra snickers. “Is that the best you’ve got, Sato?”

“No,” Asami huffs indignantly. She grabs her ball, fully prepared to take another shot, but a _swish_ is already ringing throughout the gymnasium. Korra sends her an arrogant smirk, pleased with herself for making a free throw. As if that’s impressive.

She moves to the side. Every time Korra shoots, Asami watches the muscles in her arms pull taut, the flex in her calves as she jumps. Her wrist flicks perfectly, her fingers staying in the air for seconds after her shot. They finish the game, and Korra easily wins.

“Just because I’m your leader doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you, Jinora.”

A freshman, Jinora, pouts. “But you should let me win because I’m your friend.”

“Maybe next time,” Korra says around a toothy grin. The girl smiles in response as Korra ruffles her hair. When she catches Asami’s scrutinous eye, the grin slides off her face, quickly replaced with a scowl.

“Do we have time for another game?” Jinora asks.

Korra nods and sets up the line again. Asami falls behind Korra this time. Korra’s shot balances on the rim—about to tip in—when Asami’s shot knocks it out of the way. Both balls clatter to the ground.

“ _That’s_ the best I’ve got,” she says with a smug look dancing behind her eyes. Korra scoffs, jogs to pick up her ball. They shoot at the same time, from opposite ends of the three-point line. Again, their balls fall to the ground. Korra’s lands near Asami, who takes this opportunity to block Korra while taking her shot. Korra’s ball rolls further away, and Asami easily shoots over Korra’s head to catch nothing but net.

For the second time that day, Korra is roughly grabbing Asami, this time by the collar of her shirt. Korra twists her hand in the material, the other coming up to grip Asami’s chin. A deep crimson color overtakes her face, her teeth bared and her jaw clenched.

“That was fucking cheating, Sato, and you know it.” Korra’s voice drips with venom.

“Actually,” Asami struggles against Korra’s iron grip, “there’s nothing in the rules saying I can’t do that.”

“Listen here, you little—”

“Korra!” Tenzin marches up to them, breaking through the wall of freshmen that had gathered to watch. “What on earth are you doing?”

Korra drops Asami, brushing her shoulders and straightening the wrinkles she caused with her hands. “Nothing, Coach. Just having a friendly competition with my fellow leader,” Korra replies nonchalantly, making direct eye contact with Asami.

Tenzin turns to her. “Asami?”

Asami returns her stare. “Yeah, Coach. We were just being friendly.”

His eyes narrow, deepening the creases in his face. He doesn’t look like he believes them, but he doesn’t seem to want to fight them on it either. “Just wrap up class for me, okay?”

Korra mocks a salute before facing the freshmen and ordering them to put the equipment away. She sends them off to get changed, but not before handing out high-fives to several of them. Since when is Korra charismatic? And with children, no less. Asami tells herself the clench in her heart at seeing Korra with the kids is nothing more than a physical reaction to the flex of Korra’s biceps as she gathers the basketballs.

Asami goes to follow Korra to the locker room, but Tenzin stops Korra as she reaches the door. Glancing backward, Asami slows as she walks into the hallway, trying to catch a snippet of their conversation. Unsuccessful, she heads back to get dressed.

The locker room has mostly cleared out by the time Korra trudges through the door. She won’t meet Asami’s eyes. Hoping to avoid their earlier interaction, Asami decides to take the long way to the door, in the complete opposite direction as Korra’s locker.

“Hey, Asami, could we, uh, could we talk? For a minute?” Korra is wringing her hands together. Out of sheer confusion, Asami gives Korra her full attention. When Korra doesn’t move to speak, Asami arches her eyebrow.

“I, um, wanted to apologize for today. So, yeah, I’m just sorry I guess.”

Asami smirks. “Tenzin make you say that?”

Heat rushes to Korra’s face. “Hey, listen, I’m trying to apologize here, okay.”

“I know.” Her words come out softer than she intends, and in an effort to redefine the blurred lines that have taken over her heart in the past hour, she quickly follows with, “I just don’t care.”

If she hears a hollow ring as Korra punches the locker, she ignores it.

***

The day moves at a crawl. Asami’s eighth period engineering class is a welcome distraction from Korra. Asami hadn’t stopped thinking of her since fifth period. But engineering is something she can focus on, something she understands. She’s on her A-game here. Nothing will throw her off. Except, perhaps, the large boy who clambers over to her table, collapsing in the chair beside her.

“Hi, I’m Bolin. Who are you? It’s great to see you,” he greets jovially. Asami takes a moment to respond, his earnest attitude spreading like a disease that Asami gladly catches. For the first time that day, she lets a genuine smile cross her face.

“I’m Asami. It’s nice to meet you, Bolin.”

“Man, I’m so excited about this class.” He leans in as if they’re sharing a secret. “It’s gonna be so great.”

Asami can feel herself relaxing around Bolin. His happy-go-lucky nature is easy to feed off of. She opens her mouth to speak, but Bolin beats her to it.

“Oh hey, you don’t mind if I sit here, do you?” he asks. Asami softens at his innocent demeanor.

“Not at all. I’d love it if you sat here.” She hopes it comes off as sincere and not creepy. Bolin, probably unable to take anything the wrong way, flashes her a glowing smile.

The teacher strides into the room, seriousness set on his face. His rigid posture and monotonous drawl stops all conversation. Bolin sends her a look of pure glee. He leans in close, and in a poor impression of a whisper says, “He definitely looks like an engineering teacher.”

A snicker escapes Asami, and the teacher sends them a glare. She makes eye contact with Bolin, who is struggling to contain his amusement. This class might not be so bad after all.

***

“Remember, for homework you need to familiarize yourself with the CAD software we will be using for the rest of the year,” the teacher drones.

Next to Asami, Bolin shifts his face into one that’s comically serious, mocking the teacher. Asami has trouble containing her laughter. Bolin had made this class go by impossibly fast, and Asami is thankful that he sat next to her. Not only is he a wonderful distraction from Korra, but he makes Asami feel lighter than she ever has. She’s almost disappointed when the final bell rings and they begin to pack their bags.

Following Bolin out of class, Asami slams into his back when he stops in the middle of the hallway. Kids around them send nasty looks, most of which Bolin is oblivious to.

“Hey, Asami,” he says. His face is uncharacteristically grave.

Asami shifts uneasily as she says, “Yeah, Bolin?”

“Okay so you can totally say no, like no hard feelings absolutely zero but like if you wanted you could maybe come to this party Mako and I are having and I want you to be there cause you’re cool so you should come.” He breathes it out in one go. Asami chuckles at his nervous excitement.

“I would love to come to your party,” she says. As an afterthought, she adds, “Wait, who’s Mako?”

Bolin sighs with relief. “He’s my older brother. He’s a sophomore in college, and we’re hosting a back-to-school party,” he explains much more calmly.

The best thing about school starting on a Friday is that almost everyone hosts some kind of party. Asami has never been to one, but maybe this year that will change.

“You don’t have to decide now,” Bolin starts as he pulls a pen out of his pocket, “but here’s my number.” He writes it on her wrist. “Just text me if you wanna come. You should, though. Come, I mean.” His sheepish smile returns.

Playing coy, Asami says, “I’ll think about it.” Bolin’s crestfallen face is enough to make her drop the act. Reaching out to touch his shoulder, she says, “I’ll be there. Text you later?”

He lights up like a Christmas tree. “Yeah, for sure. See ya, Asami!” Bolin skips down the hall. 

Shaking her head, Asami starts down the stairs to the main lobby. The cheesy grin she wears surprises her. It’s good to be this happy. She joyfully awaits telling her father that she has plans tonight; he’ll be so proud.

Crossing over to the parking lot, her good mood is instantly replaced by a feeling far harder to pin down. There, standing next to her bike, is Korra. Great, just great. This is exactly what Asami needs to end her day: another attack from Satan’s spawn.

Helmet in one hand and the other curling into a fist, Asami approaches Korra. She’s a few feet from her bike by the time Korra notices her. That sly grin appears yet again, and something akin to pure heat drops in Asami’s stomach.

“Sato,” Korra greets. Asami can’t quite make sense of her tone; she seems almost—happy?—to see Asami. This day keeps getting more and more confusing.

Asami nods, barely acknowledging the other girl. It’s best to move on quickly and without confrontation. Korra, on the other hand, apparently enjoys starting every conversation with her fist.

“Hey, Sato, I’m talking to you.” Asami senses Korra’s presence crowding her by the bike. Looks like there won’t be an easy way out of this one.

“That’s nice,” she mutters, opening her bag to grab her leather jacket. Slipping it on, she decides it’s best to face the music. She turns to give Korra her best glare, fight fire with fire. “What do you want, Korra?”

Korra scowls, steps closer. They’re not touching, but it’s close enough for Asami to feel the heat radiating off Korra in waves. “I’m going to make this year hell for you. Every time you think things are good, I’ll make sure they aren’t. You better watch your back.” Korra spins on her heel, satisfied that she got the last word. Asami won’t make it that simple for her, though.

“That’s kinda stalkerish, don’t you think?” she calls after Korra. “I mean, for someone who supposedly hates me, you’re a little obsessed.” Korra stops dead in her tracks. Asami smirks, pleased with herself for getting under Korra’s skin.

Mounting her bike, she smiles when she hears Korra marching back up to her. Not bothering to so much as glance in her direction, Asami puts her helmet on and turns the engine over. It roars to life, drowning out whatever snide remark Asami is sure was on Korra’s tongue. Pushing her kickstand up, she grips the throttle, fully prepared to take off. However, Asami is nothing if not a smart-ass, so she turns to give Korra a mock salute before pulling out of the parking lot. Speeding down Main Street, she cracks a smile at the petulant glare on Korra’s face.

 _Too easy,_ she thinks to herself. _This is going to be too easy_.

***

The address Bolin had texted Asami led her to an industrial district on the outskirts of town. In all honesty, she had expected a house, and upon pulling up to a warehouse she has half a mind to turn around and go home. Surely the party isn’t here?

Checking and then double-checking the address, Asami decides this must be the place. She approaches the entrance, feeling self-conscious in her dressed-down attire. Bolin had said to “dress casual,” not that Asami really knows what that is. Sporting dark ripped jeans, a plain black t-shirt, and her favorite leather jacket is about as casual as she can do. The jacket has a gear design on the shoulder, reminiscent of her father’s company’s logo. She feels pretentious, alien, like Bolin only invited her as a courtesy and she wasn’t actually meant to show up.

Her fears are squashed the second she enters the building. Bolin is bounding up to her like an overeager puppy, greeting her as excitedly as he had in engineering class. In his left hand is a red solo cup, which he passes off to Asami.

“This is Mako’s special punch.”

The pungent smell wafts from the cup and fills Asami’s nostrils. She tilts the cup, a dark red liquid swashing up the sides. “Is there alcohol in this?”

Bolin’s eyebrows scrunch, the corners of his mouth turning down. “I think it’s mostly alcohol.” He shakes his head as if trying to physically manifest a new thought. “If you don’t wanna drink I can show you where the good stuff is. Non-alcoholic, of course,” he adds with a wink.

Asami giggles—an honest to god _giggle_ , like she’s thirteen talking to her crush—and shakes her head no. “This is fine.”

Bolin gleams, a gesture Asami is beginning to realize is as common as it is genuine. He takes her hand and drags her along. Only then does Asami take in her surroundings. The warehouse isn’t as large on the inside as it first appeared—no more than five-thousand square feet. There are mismatched tables, chairs, and couches strewn haphazardly across the floor. Lights are shining from all directions, so many that Asami can’t tell where any of them originate from. Several people she recognizes—and several she doesn’t—are mingling throughout the warehouse. The corner directly opposite where they stand seems to be the designated dance area, with a cheap DJ set up and extra lights.

“Bolin, this is insane. How on earth did you do this?” she asks, voice filled with wonder.

“Oh, this was seized like six months ago from some guy named Varrick. Apparently, he was into some shady stuff. Anyways, the police never did anything with it, so Mako has just been turning it into this. Pretty cool, right?”

Asami nods, lost for words. “How many people did you invite?” She glances around, estimating there to be at least three hundred others.

“Um, well, I’m not sure?” his voice lifts at the end. “I pretty much invited everyone, but Mako is kinda weird when it comes to socializing.”

“And he just let you invite a ton of random high schoolers to his place?”

Bolin laughs. “Yeah. He’s cool like that. I mean, there are actually a lot of college kids here, so he must’ve gotten word out. I’m not sure.”

Asami continues to scope out the place, finding something new each time her eyes scan. There’s silence between them for a few moments, but Bolin shouts like he’s suddenly remembered something.

“What is it?” Asami turns to him, a crease in her brow.

Forgoing an answer, Bolin grabs her hand and begins to drag her along again.

“Bolin?” she laughs nervously.

“C’mon, let’s go see Mako. He’ll really like you!” Bolin’s eyes crinkle, searching for someone (Mako, presumably), and Asami hears him muttering under his breath; something about “my two favorite people meeting, oh this is great.” She just shakes her head, amused by his antics.

They stop near the middle of the warehouse, and Asami takes a sip from her drink. It’s potent, but not overwhelming to the point where she chokes. A gentle burn chases the alcohol down her throat, and she welcomes the heat that instantly spreads throughout her body.

Bolin starts, and Asami’s drink almost spills as a result of the force with which she’s being pulled. Asami slams into a towering presence—Bolin, who has stopped at the edge of a couch. On it sit three people: a boy with a stoic face grabs Asami’s attention right away, if only because his attractiveness borders on distracting. Similar to another person, who Asami refuses to spare any thoughts for. The boy’s dark hair is brushed back, his reddish-brown eyes unfocused. His two friends are talking across him, but he pays them no mind.

“Mako!” Bolin shouts.

The stoic boy looks up, much more aware now that his name has been called. His face splits into a lopsided smile, one that unnervingly reminds Asami of—

No. What did she just say? There will be no thoughts of _her_ tonight.

“Bolin!” Mako greets back. He rises, shares a brief hug with Bolin, before turning his attention to Asami. “And who’s this beautiful girl you’ve brought with you?” He directs this at his brother, but his next statement is for Asami. “Don’t tell me he’s tricked you into liking him.”

Bolin huffs indignantly, but Asami just smiles. “He has, actually. Your brother is quite the charmer.”

Mako smirks, rolls his eyes. Bolin, remembering his manners, gestures to Asami before informing Mako, “This is my friend, Asami. We met in engineering class today.” He says it like he says everything, with boundless joy.

“Oh, Bolin, speaking of meeting new people, there’s someone here I think you should see. You too, Asami, if you want.” Without waiting for a response, he strides away, leaving them to stumble after him.

They follow him to the dance floor. As they arrive, Mako is waving this mystery person over. He spins back around to face them. “Okay, we met a few weeks ago and she’s really cool. I think I’m gonna ask her out tonight. Just tell me what you think, okay?” he rushes out right as the crowd parts to allow said girl through.

She’s all dark skin and toned muscles, walking with a relaxed swagger that can only be achieved by knowing you’re as good as you think you are. Asami scans her body, eyes traveling up to a face she can only assume will be beautiful, if this girl’s body is anything to go by. The girl’s throat bobs as she introduces herself, and the second an arrogant, “Hey,” slips past her mouth, Asami’s done. She doesn’t even have to peer upwards to know that eyes are already burning holes into her skull, doesn’t have to glance anywhere but her own feet to know that this night has irrevocably set course for disaster. She looks anyway, tempting fate with an idiotic sort of curiosity, trying to see how close she can get to fire before it burns her. The instant she meets Korra’s eyes, Asami realizes that whatever lies behind them blazes hotter than any fire. Much, much hotter.

Fuck her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think in the comments! i have the next few chapters written but there are absolutely no promises on when i will update


	2. Life of the Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nothing good happens after 2am @tedmosby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't plan on updating this again right away, but here we are. i spent my entire spanish class today mentally planning this fic, so now that ik where it's going i feel better about posting this. thank you so much for the comments and kudos on the last chapter. it made my day :)
> 
> again, thanks to moony_dearc4 for reading this first and also for helping me plan this out

This can’t be happening.

Asami downs the rest of her drink without consideration for the sharp burn it sends down her throat. This physical manifestation of pain is better than the phantom emotions that cling to her whenever Korra is near.

“Hey, Sato. Long time no see,” Korra drawls. Seeing her in this light changes everything, ignites every nerve ending in Asami’s body until a suffocating heat envelops her. In the daylight, it was easy to write off the sinking sensation as purely physical attraction, but now? Now Asami has no excuse for the way her body lights up or the way her pulse quickens.

Mako glances between them. Bolin, never one for reading the room, grabs Asami’s cup with a promise to be right back. The only upside of him leaving is the thought of more alcohol. Inebriation isn’t a solution, but Asami will take it. Her composed facade cracks, and alcohol is the best explanation she has (barring the truth, which she absolutely refuses to acknowledge).

“You two know each other?” Mako asks in Bolin’s wake.

Before Asami can even think about getting a word in, Korra is swinging an arm over her shoulder and sending Mako a pseudo smile. “Oh yeah, we’re real good friends.”

Mako cocks an eyebrow at Asami, waiting for confirmation. There’s a pleading look in Korra’s eyes, though what exactly she’s asking for, Asami isn’t sure. She plays along for now, if only to curb this burning desire settling in the pit of her stomach. “Yeah, we lead freshman gym together.”

His eyes narrow, but Mako still accepts the lie at face value. “Okay.” He draws out the syllables. Korra shoots her a thankful glance.

Asami’s “one-off embodiment of loneliness” is looking weaker by the second. She understands that Korra hates her; that much is clear. The logical route would be to hate Korra, too. If neither can stand the other, then they can live peacefully with their disdain and get on with life. Or, if peace isn’t an option, at the very least they can fight until Tenzin reassigns one of them. Hate is straightforward; there’s really only one path it can take them down. But this hot and cold mess Asami has gotten herself into in the past twelve hours branches off in too many directions, is too hard to follow. The fondness she felt when she saw how the kids adored Korra, how she interacted with them as if she cared, makes things complicated. Asami can’t handle complicated, not right now, not with Korra.

Asami may have the emotional intelligence of a fish, but even she can understand exactly what she’s feeling right now. She won’t allow it. She can’t. Deciding that the logic is the best route—the  _ only _ route—Asami shrugs Korra’s arm off her shoulders. A familiar heat rises to Korra’s face, and Asami can’t help but think it’s always there, sitting beneath the surface waiting for one minor inconvenience to set it off. Luckily, Bolin returns then, and Asami can ignore reality, if only for a little while longer.

As if he’s just now noticing the tension, Bolin hovers near Asami after handing her the drink. She’s grateful for his silent support.

“So,” he starts, “you guys wanna dance?”

The four of them eagerly agree, looking for an out from whatever the hell is going on. Bolin grabs both of Asami’s hands, pushing and pulling her along to the beat. She lets herself be dragged along, enjoying the loose feeling spreading to her limbs. Maybe the alcohol wasn’t such a bad idea. After a few sweaty minutes, Bolin leans in, his entire body pressing closer. It’s not unpleasant, and certainly not predatory. Asami thinks he just wants to be close to someone, and she can’t blame him for that. He does have an intention, though, which Asami realizes the instant he opens his mouth.

“So, you’re, like, a girl, right?” he asks, voice muffled by the blaring music.

She laughs, shakes her head, responds lightly with, “Yeah, Bolin. I had hoped that was obvious.”

He blushes at her teasing, but powers on. “If I wanted to, say, hypothetically, maybe ask a girl out, how would I do that?” His earnest expression almost makes her laugh again, but she thinks better of it.

“Well, that depends.”

“On what?”

“Who’s the girl?”

Bolin instantly shuts down, meek energy radiating from him. “Oh, um, she’s just, like, this girl?”

Asami shakes her head. “Bolin, I can’t help you if I don’t know what the situation is.”

Clearing his throat, he glances to Asami’s left before carrying on. “Her name is Opal.”

“Beifong?” Bolin spins Asami around by her hand.

He nods when she’s facing him again. This time, Asami does laugh. “Bolin, I know her!”

Bolin does a double-take. “You do?”

“Yeah, I can introduce you.”

His head shakes violently up and down, excitement ebbing from his every action. “You would do that for me? Really?” Before she can give an answer, Bolin is crushing her in a hug. Asami buries her face in his shoulder. His smell is intoxicating, like the earth. It makes her feel at home. She pulls back.

“Is she here tonight?”

“Yeah, I invited her.”

This time, Asami is the one to grab his hand and pull him away from the dance floor. Leaning in conspiratorially, she says, “Let’s go get your girl.”

***

Opal Beifong rests on a support pillar in the far left corner of the warehouse. Everyone around her stands enamored by her quick-witted charm and gentle teasing. Her lax nature suggests a calm indifference, but the intense, deliberate shine in her eyes suggests something else altogether. She pauses her speech, eyes scanning the crowd as if looking for a reaction, one she knows she’ll get. It borders on arrogance, but she pulls it off with an innocent authenticity. Asami understands why Bolin is attracted to her; she can’t help but be a little in love, too.

They make their way to the back of the crowd, tuning in to the final part of Opal’s story. As she finishes to uproarious applause, her eyes find Asami’s. A childish grin spreads across her face.

“Asami, so good to see you,” she says, making her through the crowd to them.

Pulling Opal into a hug, Asami returns the sentiment. She peers back at Bolin, who stands scratching his neck a few feet away. She leads Opal to him.

“Opal, this is my friend, Bolin. Bolin, Opal.”

Bolin’s back becomes ramrod straight, and he lifts his chin. He presumes an air of authority, and, in a voice much deeper than his own, states, “It is lovely to meet you, Opal. I am Bolin.”

Opal raises an eyebrow at Asami, who lifts a finger and mutters, “One sec,” before grabbing Bolin by the scruff of his neck and dragging him out of Opal’s sight.

“Dude, what the hell was that?” she hisses at him. “I thought you said you liked her. What’s the matter with you?”

Bolin groans, buries his face in his hands. “I do! I just got nervous. I’m sorry.”

Asami shakes her head at him, though whether it’s out of amusement or disappointment, she can’t tell. “Just be yourself. She’ll like you.”

He turns hopeful eyes to her. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

As they walk back, Asami adds, “And if she doesn’t, I’ll kick her ass.”

The grin Bolin sends her makes the threat worth it.

***

As time winds down, nearing one in the morning, Asami takes stock of the night’s events: she hadn’t seen Korra or Mako again, Bolin and Opal had run off half an hour ago, and Asami had spent a majority of her night drinking in an effort to bury her emotions. She had yet to give any real consideration to how her plan with Korra will work out. By now, the warehouse is mostly clear, save for a few people too drunk to even think about standing.

Staring at the last of her drink, she doesn’t notice Mako until he’s standing right in front of her. He seems drunk, too, but not on alcohol. Korra is wrapped around his frame, sparing no attention to Asami. Fine, if that’s how she wants to play this, then Asami will just go along.

“Hey,” he says. She nods, and he continues. “We’re heading back to my apartment. You in?” At this offer, Korra scowls.

“We?” Asami asks, not wanting to be a third wheel in whatever teenage love affair has infected the last four hours.

“Me, Korra, Bolin, and some other girl.” Opal, Asami assumes.

She stumbles to her feet, impaired enough to feel off-kilter, but not so much that she can’t control herself. “Yeah. How are—how’re we gonna get there?” Okay, maybe she’s a little more drunk than she thought.

Mako points vaguely in the direction of the entrance. “Uber.”

Asami collects herself and follows them outside to where Bolin and Opal are waiting. Bolin spins on his heel, trotting to meet Asami halfway. He picks her off the ground, twirling her around, before setting her down and whispering in her ear.

“Tonight’s been great. Thank you so much for coming.”

She just pats his back, not wanting to speak out of fear for the bile rising in her throat. Bolin pulls back, concern etched into his face, but then she catches Korra’s eye. Apparently, it  _ is  _ possible for Korra to be more distracting. The moonlight reflects off her, giving her skin a heavenly glow. The tank top she wore that night clings to her body, leaving no room to the imagination as to what lay beneath. With her hair pulled back in a high ponytail, every single one of her facial features is brought into focus. What draws Asami’s attention, though, is the movement of her neck as she passionately discusses basketball with Mako. Asami can almost taste the salt on her neck, imagines kissing her way down it, going just a little farther south, leaving marks on Korra’s collarbone for the whole world to see, to have them know that Korra—

Just then, the Uber pulls up. Asami tears her eyes away from Korra, blaming the violent shake of her hands on the summer night’s breeze. The five of them pile in, and as fate would have it, Asami ends up squished between the door and Korra. Mako sits in the front seat discussing police politics with the driver, Bolin and Opal too absorbed in each other to notice the sudden tension in Korra’s body. Asami, for the most part, does her best to stay relaxed. If Korra can’t tell Asami’s heart is beating out of her chest at the way their sides are flush against each other, then she’s safe.

Asami starts when she feels hot breath hit her jaw, followed by a pair of lips edging dangerously close to her ear. Soft-spoken words drown out any thoughts of protest in her brain.

“The night’s young, Sato. Are you ready?” In another light, Asami can imagine herself blushing at the implication on Korra’s tongue, but there’s no mistaking the threat in her voice.  _ Fight fire with fire _ , Asami thinks, the phrase quickly becoming her mantra.

She tilts her body, leaning into Korra. Every defined, ridiculously attractive muscle in her body clenches. Korra hasn’t moved her lips, so they sit mere inches from Asami’s. The space between them suffocates Asami. The car feels suddenly hot, and Asami hates herself for wearing layers in the middle of August. Sweat certainly won’t speak to her aloof composure. Allowing herself a peek into Korra’s eyes, she notices for the first time just how blue they are. There’s a faint splattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, easy to miss against the dark complexion of her skin. Asami sucks in what she hopes is a subtle breath, because under the harsh lights of the locker room and warehouse, Asami had never noticed how truly beautiful Korra is. The gentle lighting created by the street lights brings into focus the angular definition of Korra’s cheekbones, smoothed out by flawless skin. Now that she’s seen it, there’s no going back.

Realizing she’s been staring too long, Asami pushes further into Korra’s space. A satisfied flare overtakes her body when Korra sinks back into her seat.

“Believe me, I’m more than ready.” She tilts the corners of her mouth up in what she hopes is an intimidating smirk.

Fire drops to her stomach when she sees Korra’s eyes dart to her lips. Spurred by this rush of emotion, Asami bites her bottom lip before closing the already minute distance. This is all performative, she tells herself. This isn’t real, this is for spite, to make herself hate Korra as much as Korra hates her. She doesn’t believe it as she drops her voice, murmuring, “Are you?”

Asami’s face slips into a grin at Korra’s sharp inhale. She returns to her seat just as the Uber pulls up to Mako’s building. Barely waiting for the car to park, she opens the door and hops to the curb. Mako shoots her a questioning glance but otherwise leaves it. The rest of the group tumble out of the car, various words of gratitude slurred at the driver. He waves and pulls away, leaving the five of them standing outside. Nobody moves for the door. Eventually, Bolin tunes in long enough to recognize his surroundings, giving Mako a shove in the shoulder.

“The door?” he points out.

Fumbling with the keys, Mako awkwardly makes his way inside, leaving the door ajar for the rest of them. The apartment is cramped and modestly decorated, but Mako appears to have made the most of the space. Every shelf is lined with books and pictures of people Asami doesn’t recognize. Everyone in the photos bears resemblance to Mako or Bolin; they must have a massive family. She comes to a stop at a picture of two boys—Mako and Bolin—much younger than they are now, standing next to a pair of adults, who don’t appear in any of the other photos. Their parents? She doesn’t ask, deciding it would be best not to poke this sleeping bear.

Mako stalks off to the kitchen, returning with five water bottles. At Bolin’s pout, he says, “Someone here has to be responsible. Sober up.”

They settle across from each other on two couches, Mako and Korra snuggled together on one and Opal, Bolin, and Asami on the other. Her initial apprehension about being the third wheel grows with her current reality of being the fifth wheel, which is so much worse.

Time is fast approaching two in the morning. Most conversation has ceased, except for the few light jokes cracked here and there. Asami and Korra spent a majority of their short time in Mako’s living room exchanging glares. Mako kept staring between the two of them as though trying to mentally sort each of their interactions. They certainly hadn’t been subtle. At least Bolin and Opal seem to be enjoying themselves.

Korra shifts away from Mako, jumping to her feet and speed-walking to the kitchen. The four people left in her wake glance around, startled by the disturbance. Korra comes back momentarily, shot glass in hand. Mako groans, probably preparing to lecture Korra on being responsible, when she snatches Asami’s water and fills the shot glass. Standing where everyone can see her, she announces, “Watch me,” as she balances the shot glass on the tip of her nose.

Asami arches her eyebrow at Mako, who just shrugs and watches Korra, his interest clearly piqued. Asami, for the second time that night, becomes rather preoccupied with Korra’s body on display. The way her shirt rides up as she leans back not only exposes a sliver of skin at her midriff, but also makes her collarbones jut out attractively. Asami has trouble narrowing in on one area, eyes wandering all over Korra’s body. It’s wrong, she knows, to so blatantly objectify a woman like this, but she can’t help herself. Besides, there will be plenty to be guilty about in the morning when she’s hungover and regrets ever leaving the comfort of her own home.

Korra tilts her head forward slightly, the water draining directly into her mouth without spilling a drop. She catches the shot glass before it clatters to the ground. A smug grin tugging at her mouth, she bows to the applause Mako, Bolin, and Opal give her. Asami just scoffs.

“That’s not even impressive,” she states flatly.

Korra quirks an eyebrow, eyes capturing hers in a challenge. “Think you can do better?” she asks.

Already out of her seat, and with an air of fabricated confidence, Asami replies, “I know I can.” Bolin whistles lowly, his cheeks puffing out with the effort. Asami redirects her gaze to Mako. “Do you have a lighter?” Mako nods and moves to get her one. Korra sends a bored look in her direction, but Asami can’t be bothered. Mako passes Asami a BIC lighter. Perfect.

While she has never successfully pulled this trick off, Asami still dares to try it, if only for the chance to show Korra up. Using her left hand to make a fist, she presses the button down on the lighter. She holds the head of the lighter toward her hand, allowing the gas to fill up the chamber she makes with her fist. She keeps it there for longer than necessary, can see her friends losing interest. After thirty seconds, she strikes the lighter, igniting the gas in the palm of her hand. She opens it up, allows her friends to see the ball of flame dancing on the tips of her fingers.

Bolin springs from the couch, an ecstatic shout booming from his mouth. The others, including Korra, give her a round of applause (though Korra’s is more sarcastic than not if the way she huffs is any indication).

“Well, you’re just the life of the party, aren’t you?” Korra sneers.

“I do try. Thanks for noticing.” Asami winks at Korra, who fumes petulantly beside Mako.

As soon as Asami retakes her seat, Bolin sways into her space. “Where did ya learn to do that? Can you teach me? That was wicked cool.”

Asami grins at Bolin. “Well, my mother was a bit of a pyromaniac. I guess I got it from her. It’s not hard. I think it’s best if we wait until we’re sober, though. It can be dangerous.”

Mako lifts his hand to second Asami’s concerns. As Asami fondly shakes her head at him, she notices the distant gaze Korra has, almost as if she’s looking at Asami but seeing someone else entirely. It leaves her unsettled, on edge. Sick of feeling this way, even though it’s barely been twenty-four hours since Korra had been reintroduced into her life, Asami mentally reinforces her plan to avoid Korra and ignore whatever ill-advised feelings may or may not arise in her presence. It will work—it has to.

***

The full moon shines through the window behind Mako, casting silver shadows on everyone’s faces. It’s a quarter after three. Asami feels steadier on her feet now. They’ve migrated to the kitchen, standing and sitting in various locations throughout the small room. Korra sits farthest away, tucked in the corner on the countertop. Asami stands diagonally across the room from her at the short breakfast bar that separates the kitchen from the living room. While Mako grills Opal about her Aunt Lin—who’s the chief of police—Bolin listens to Asami explain how combustion engines work. Korra is left out, though she doesn’t appear to mind much, happily watching the two different conversations. She fixes most of her attention on Mako, however, seemingly captivated by his tunnel vision focus as Opal launches into her next story. Just as Asami reaches the importance of pistons, she stumbles at the fond gaze Korra directs at her. Trailing off, she holds Korra’s eyes before the other girl tunes back in to Mako and Opal.

“Asami?” Bolin asks. His voice is clearer than it had been, the five of them having sobered up significantly.

“Hm?” she replies, her brain power splintering into several pieces in an attempt to make sense of Korra’s actions.

“You were talking about pistons.”

“Oh. Yes, right. I’m sorry, can you...I’m just gonna go to the bathroom.” She points vaguely down the hall, missing the lopsided grin Korra shoots her.

The door creaks as Asami closes it, forgoing the lock. It looks broken, anyway. She stalks to the sink, turning it on the coldest setting and letting it run over her hands, droplets racing down her forearms and collecting at her elbows. The numbing sting of the water allows her to breathe for a second, freeing space in her mind to think. Every interaction with Korra gives Asami whiplash, a permanent sense of vertigo clinging to her. She has no idea how she’ll survive the rest of the year; these few hours spent in Korra’s vicinity alone have been taxing enough to last a lifetime. A knock interrupts her internal monologue.

Forcing her voice into an unaffected tone, she calls, “I’ll be out soon.”

A creak echoes in Asami’s ears. Assuming it’s Bolin who has come to check on her, she doesn’t look up, instead mutters, “I said I’d be out soon, Bolin.”

Warm hands grip her shoulders. A gravelly voice fills the room, saying, “It’s not Bolin.”

Asami spins around, knocking Korra’s hands off her shoulders. She instantly misses their warmth, goosebumps erupting on her skin where they had been.

“What are you doing?” she asks slowly.

Korra’s eyebrows are drawn together, her mouth twisting downward. “I just wanted to see if you’re okay.”

Asami feels intoxicated all over again, as if she hadn’t stopped drinking four hours ago, as if she wasn’t that drunk to begin with. Some sharp, fiery thing that had long since settled in Asami’s stomach threatens to resurface at the sight of Korra’s genuine concern. She can’t deal with this; it’s too much.

She schools her features, her detached composure reappearing like second nature. “Like you care,” she says, a monotonous drawl shielding her racing heart.

“I do care.” Korra steps closer, and Asami’s back hits the sink. Her first instinct is to push back, regain control, manipulate the situation back into safe, familiar territory.

Asami raises a challenging eyebrow. “Oh? Careful there, Korra. Your feelings are showing.”

It’s the right thing to say. Korra’s kind demeanor instantly deflates, replaced with something Asami has become quite accustomed to. That anger bubbling below the surface of every one of Korra’s interactions rears its head. Asami finds it oddly comforting, Korra’s anger. If anything else, it’s something she can count on to always make an appearance.

“I just wanted to make sure nobody else was doing my job for me. I meant it when I said I’d make this year hell for you.”

Asami scoffs. Standing to her full height, she pushes Korra, who stumbles backwards at the unexpected contact. “Please. The only person whose year you’re ruining is yours. Remember who hates who here, Korra, because it’s not me.” She reaches for the door handle, but Korra tightly grips her wrist.

“You just wait and see, Sato,” she growls. As far as threats go, it’s not the best Korra can do.

Asami huffs in amusement, watching Korra leave the bathroom. She follows, and if Asami catches herself watching the sway of Korra’s hips, well, then, she’s only human.

***

“I’m telling you guys, I think I’ve found my true calling!” Bolin explains to a series of unimpressed faces, finishing his exaggerated story about the excitements of engineering class.

“Yeah, sure, Bolin. This is your, what? Fourth true calling this year?” Mako smirks knowingly from his seat across from Bolin.

Bolin grumbles. “It’s my third…”

Opal rubs between his shoulder blades, whispering words of encouragement in his ear.

First light is peeking through the living room curtains, illuminating the space with a warm glow. They had been talking for hours at this point. Korra had become much more laidback, hardly glancing at Asami since they left the bathroom. It had all felt oddly like home—more so than her father’s mansion. Asami would have been content to rest there all night, surrounded by her people, but Mako puts a pin in that plan right away.

“I hate to kick you guys out, but I’m getting old and five in the morning is way past my bedtime.” He stands, stretching his arms high above his head. His shoulders make a hollow cracking noise and he groans.

Asami is the first to rise, already collecting her jacket and moving to say goodbye to Bolin. It’s quite the affair: Bolin sweeps her off her feet in a bone crushing hug, repeatedly thanking her for “the best night ever.” Sending a small wave to the rest of them, and thanking Mako for his hospitality, she’s the first out the door, a sigh heavy on her lips.

When she arrives on the sidewalk, Asami reaches for her keys, only to realize she left her motorcycle at the warehouse. Pulling her phone out of her pocket, her night only gets worse when she sees it’s dead. Perfect. For a moment—only a moment—she considers turning back inside, but instantly rethinks that idea. She won’t take advantage of her new friends, especially not when she lives on the complete opposite side of town. It’s too much to ask. She’ll just have to find her way to the warehouse somehow.

Asami makes her way north, which she guesses (hopes) is the right direction. Passing an alley on her left, she has half a mind to ask the gentleman across the street for help when a rough hand yanks her off the sidewalk. Pinned to the wall, Asami goes to kick out her attacker’s leg, only to see a familiar flash of blue.

“Korra! What the hell is wrong with you?” she seethes.

“Don’t you know it’s not safe for young, small girls to walk around the big, bad city at night?” she asks condescendingly.

“First of all, I’m taller than you, so fuck off. Second of all, I can handle myself, thank you very much.”

It occurs to Asami that this is the third time in twenty-four hours that they’ve ended up in this position: Asami’s back to a wall with Korra hovering far too close to be considered platonic (not that they’re friends, but it’s the sentiment that counts). Korra doesn’t let Asami dwell on that observation for too long, choosing to push her further into the side of the building. She opens her mouth as if to speak, but no words come out. They’re making far too much eye contact for Asami’s liking. She tilts her head to the side, glancing out toward the street, now illuminated with fractured rays of sunlight rather than the harsh glare of the streetlamps.

Facing Korra again, Asami voices a question. “How did you even get ahead of me? I left before you.”

At that, Korra gives a boyish grin. “A magician never reveals her secrets.”

“How exciting.” Asami brings her hand between them, pushing lightly at Korra’s shoulder. “Listen, as much as I enjoy your company, I’ve got a long walk. I think it’s time we call it a night, no?”

Korra relents enough to allow Asami to break away from the wall, before suddenly changing her mind. Asami’s back hits the brick with force, wind violently knocked out of her lungs.

“Jesus, Korra. Lay off,” she gruffs.

Korra doesn’t reply, continues to stare at her. Under her scrutiny, Asami squirms. Korra observes her, eyes carefully tracing over her face, down her neck, scanning her entire body. It doesn’t make Asami uncomfortable like it should, and she adds another tally to the list of indiscernible feelings Korra has made her feel in the past day. Korra nods once, and whether it’s to herself or Asami, she can’t tell. Slowly backing away from Asami, Korra has one last examination before shaking her head.

With a gentle nature Asami didn’t know Korra possessed, she whispers, “Get home safe, Sato.” And then, as a second thought, “Can’t have someone else beating you up. That’s my job.” With that, Korra disappears down the alley as quickly as she appeared. It takes Asami a moment to get started again. 

Korra doesn’t leave Asami’s mind for her entire trek back to the warehouse. As she cruises along the interstate, a barely-awake Republic City in her rearview, she thinks that tonight wasn’t so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m really lazy so don’t expect updates to always come this quick. that being said, i hope y’all enjoyed this! let me know what you think in the comments


	3. On the Precipice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things begin to change, for better or for worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good news: this chapter is done and polished, and the rest of the story is outlined  
> bad news: I'm really stuck on chapter four  
> anyways, here this is. it got a little long. i hope you guys like it. as always, thank you @moony_dearc4 for reading this first.

“So, you and Korra. What’s up with that?” Opal has never been one for beating around the bush, the art of subtle probing all but lost on her.

Asami rests on her stomach, phone in hand. She had gotten home a little after six in the morning. Opal called her the second she settled into bed, because apparently Asami isn’t allowed to sleep just yet.

“What do you mean?” Asami asks. She knows, but a sick, masochistic part of herself wants to hear Opal say it, wants to see if everyone else knows, too.

“Don’t you dare play coy with me, Asami.” Opal’s threat falls flat, her angelic voice not doing much to help her. After a pause, she adds, as if it’s obvious, “How long have you two been fucking?”

Asami drops her phone. She scrambles off her bed, falling flat on her ass in the process, and groans loudly before slowly bringing the phone back to her ear. With a deep, calming breath, she says, “Opal, what the hell? We’re not…sleeping together.”

Opal’s voice lilts through the speaker, far too cheerful for the topic of discussion and the time of day. “You fell off your bed, didn’t you? So that means I’m right.”

“No,” Asami’s voice turns sharp, “you’re not.” While this assumption is better than Opal being aware of Asami’s fuddled feelings, it doesn’t sit right with her. They’re not together, in any capacity. That’s an important distinction. To Asami, at least.

“Woah, hey, I was just teasing.” Opal softens instantly, always knowing when she’s taken it too far. “So if you’re not fu—sleeping together, then what’s up?”

Asami contemplates the question. There’s the simple answer: Korra hates Asami, and Asami is just doing her best to roll with the punches. But it’s not quite the truth, and she gets the feeling Opal can tell. So what  _ is  _ up?

“I don’t know,” is what Asami settles on, closer to reality than any pathetically conceived lie could have ever come. Her plan, made concrete earlier that night in Mako’s apartment, is shoddy at best. It’s already failed once in the few hours since its conception; ignoring Korra’s entire existence and compartmentalizing her feelings clearly won’t be effective.

“Listen, nothing's going on, okay? If it were, I’d tell you,” Asami softly says to Opal, and whether her tone is from sleep deprivation or affection, she can’t tell. “Korra just hates me. That’s all there is to it.”

Opal sighs, the sound reminiscent of somebody who knows they’re being lied to. “Okay, Asami. Just be careful, yeah? She’s a live wire, and I would hate to see her get suspended from the team for kicking your lanky ass. We need her to win the championship this season.”

Asami grins, glad the conversation has been steered into safe territory. Opal is on the basketball team with Korra, and as much as Asami despises the sport, she enjoys hearing Opal’s enthusiasm.

She hums. “Sure, Opal. Anything for you.”

“Damn straight.” Asami can hear Opal’s grin. “Night, Asami.”

“Goodnight.” The line clicks dead, and Asami finally drifts into a dreamless sleep.

***

Returning to school on Monday is a far more arduous affair than normal for Asami. She doesn’t pay attention in her morning classes, doesn’t have to. School is a natural talent of hers, one of the only ones she has, and she’s glad that it allows her mind the freedom to wander rather than listen to a teacher’s lecture. Her thoughts drift back and forth between the unadulterated joy she feels to have new friends and the sinking anticipation of seeing Korra next period. The emotions wage war in her head, neither side winning, until the bell rings and Asami makes her way down to the gymnasium.

Instead of going directly to the locker room, Asami stops by the basketball courts to see Coach Tenzin. She doesn’t have to, knowing he’ll give her class instructions after she changes, but a sickly tension curls low in her stomach at the thought of seeing Korra so soon after the party. Asami thinks that there isn’t any amount of time that will prepare her, but a little avoidance never hurt anyone.

With Tenzin’s back turned to her, Asami says, “Hey, Coach.” He spins on his heel, the lines in his face growing deeper by the second.

“Asami.” He nods curtly. “I am sorry to inform you that Korra will no longer be joining us for class.”

Asami furrows her brow. “What? Is she sick?”

“No,” Tenzin shakes his head. “She has been... _ excused _ from her leading duties. Didn’t she tell you this on Friday?”

“No.” It comes out unsure. “I’m not sure what you mean, Coach.”

“After her behavior in class, I told her she could not lead anymore. I believe she has a study hall now.”

Asami pieces together the information slowly, Korra’s strange actions after class last Friday being thrust into a new light. An apology—the one Asami has been so quick to shoot down—came rushing back all at once, along with a new sense of guilt. Suddenly, Asami doesn’t feel so well. She tells Coach Tenzin as much, excusing herself from class. Cutting through the weight room, Asami is halfway to the basement classrooms before she fully realizes it. She stalls at the top of the stairs, her hand coming to rest against the cold cinder wall. She isn’t even sure what she's doing, why she has the urge to explain herself to Korra, to make Korra see that she isn’t a bad person, that she didn’t mean to be so dismissive of Korra’s apology. Asami knows it will be futile, too; she doubts Korra gives one flying fuck about her feelings.

Asami is knocked out of her internal debate by some hot-shot football player, who shoves past her to get the weight room. One foot stutters forward, and before she can think too much about it she’s at the bottom of the stairs, the study hall door glaring at her from the end of the corridor.

The door is heavier than she expects, and it slams shut with an echoing bang as she enters the room. A few people glance up at the disturbance, but Asami barely notices. She walks up to the teacher’s desk, only to see a friendly face: her English teacher.

“Asami,” he greets. “What can I do for you?”

She realizes then that she has no plan. Korra may not even be in this study hall, for all she knows. And even if she were, what would Asami say to her? Her teacher waits expectantly, and Asami spits out the first thing that comes to mind.

“I’m looking for Korra.” The second the words slip past her lips, she feels a gaze burning holes in her back. So, Korra  _ is  _ here. Honestly, that’s farther than Asami anticipated getting.

“Do you need her for something?” he asks.

Asami stills at the phrasing of the question. It’s innocent, she knows it is, but the implication that Asami could ever possibly want Korra in any capacity—much less  _ need _ her like she needs air—short-circuits her brain.

“I, uh...Tenzin wanted her for something. I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important.” Asami’s chest aches at the lie, but she knows her teacher will believe it. She hasn’t given him any reason not to, her goody-two-shoes reputation speaking for itself. A part of Asami hates taking advantage of his trust like this, but a much more raucous part of her just adds it to her ever growing list of misconduct. He points to a back row, silently giving Asami permission to whisk Korra away. She walks down the aisle, coming to a stop where Korra sits.

“Come with me,” she commands, leaving no room for debate. The surge of confidence is as unexpected as it is welcome, and Asami clings to it desperately.

Korra stands without argument, shocking Asami. As they exit the room together, Asami can’t help but think how civil it all is, a complete one-eighty from Korra’s typical temper. Only when they’ve tucked themselves into a quiet basement corner, far from any prying eyes, does Asami take in Korra’s appearance. Her shoulders hunch inwards, adding to Asami’s height advantage. Her dark skin is paled, making her once captivating strength seem as delicate as a house of cards. When Korra finally looks up, Asami can see the dark bags under her eyes and the slack in her jaw.

“Come to gloat?” she mutters, voice tight with misery.

Asami takes a step back. “What?”

At her confusion, Korra’s anger makes an appearance, though it seems muted in comparison to how it usually flares up.

“Not that it matters to you, but I actually wanted to be in that class,” Korra pauses here, and just as Asami is about to retaliate, she continues. “I liked being a leader, and of course you just had to take that away, too.”

“What are you talking about?”

Korra just crosses her arms and huffs petulantly. She doesn’t move to speak, which spurs Asami forward, her interest piqued.

“No, seriously, Korra what do you mean? I haven’t done anything to you.”

Korra stands now, that nervous shell of her personality replaced by something familiar, though not at all comforting.

“Haven’t done anything? Really?” Asami nods, and Korra presses on. “Okay, well let’s start with you kissing my boyfriend—”

“I apologized for that!”

“—which made my team lose state, and then you almost ran over me, and now you’re constantly getting in my way and saying shit and just being annoying. Like, god, would it kill you to leave me the fuck alone? I mean, what the fuck is your problem?”

Asami sees red. No way is Korra pinning this all on her. No way. “ _ My  _ problem? You’re the one who won’t stop antagonizing me, who keeps following me places and getting in my face and  _ looking _ at me like you—”

“Like what? Finish that sentence, Sato. How the fuck do I look at you that’s so damn frustrating?”

They were inches apart now, breathing heavy from the effort of their words, and maybe something else, too. Asami’s voice has increased in pitch and volume, her tone bordering on a whine.

“You know, I came here to say sorry about you getting kicked out, but now I would just be lying. I’m not sorry, because I’m glad I won’t ever have to deal with you again.”

Asami spins around, prepared to storm down the hallway with the last word, but of course Korra would never let that happen.

“You better be fucking sorry, it’s your fault,” Korra shouts after her. Asami stops dead in her tracks.

“My fault?  _ My fault?  _ Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re the one who started this, not me. You pinned me against the locker, you made it physical during knockout, you came to my motorcycle, you pretended to be all friendly at the party, you followed me to the bathroom, you pulled me into the alley, you made this weird! Not me. So don’t even try to pin it on me.”

She’s not even talking about class anymore, not even sure her and Korra are reading from the same book, much less the same page.

“Made what weird? What exactly do you think is going on here, Sato?”

She should stop herself, she knows, but the words rise in her throat before she can clamp them down, before she can steer this conversation back to something tangible and far, far away from her feelings. How they even got here is beyond her, but far be it from Asami to back down when she’s cornered.

“You wanted to kiss me!”

Korra falters—actually stumbles before correcting herself—and marches to where Asami stands a few feet away.

“Kiss you?” she breathes hotly. They’re touching now, multiple points of contact shared between their bodies. Korra’s hands are on Asami, gripping the top of her shoulders, their hips shoved together by the sudden contact, their noses so close Asami swears she can feel their faces touching.

“You won’t stop looking at me like that,” Asami whispers. “Like you want to. Like you care.”

Korra sucks in a breath, the minimal air between them charged with something they both know isn’t hate. Heat coils in Asami’s stomach at the sight of Korra licking her lips. Her body almost shakes in anticipation; with bated breath, Asami waits for something, anything, to happen. Either way, she feels she won’t be disappointed.

Suddenly, the heat is gone, stripped from her body like it was never there. Korra is taking several steps back, eyes still locked on Asami’s.

“No,” Korra mutters, more to herself than Asami. “No, I don’t want to kiss you. I—”

She stutters, her words barely reaching Asami, who is having trouble focusing. She forces herself to listen, though, because whatever it is that Korra has to say feels somehow important, like she can’t miss it.

“I hate you.” Korra breaks the silence, and then, more self-assured this time, “I hate you so much, Sato. I never wanna talk to you again.”

Korra turns, a sense of finality in her steps. Asami’s heart still races, her mind blank except for replays of their conversation. She had been so angry, truly and deeply upset with Korra, so why does she only feel regret, like she missed an opportunity of some kind, like there was more left to say? More unsure than she’s ever been in her entire life, Asami leaves school, skipping the rest of her classes that day.

***

Bolin calls her at 3:20 on the dot, right after the final bell rings.

“Asami!” he shouts. She pulls the phone away from her ear at his booming voice. “Where were you? Are you okay? Did someone kill you?”

She chuckles sadly, not even Bolin able to shake her uncertainty. “I’m at home, Bolin. I wasn’t feeling well.”

She can hear a cacophony of voices from Bolin’s end, which are quickly quieted following the sound of a door closing. “Do you want me to come over? I’m great with sick people, I’ll take real good care of you,” he promises earnestly.

“No, that’s okay. I’m just going to rest for a while.”

She wants Bolin to come over—needs his company—but the thought of him seeing her like this is enough to scare her away from the fleeting thought.

“Are you sure?” He’s giving her an out, one last chance to not feel so goddamn lonely, but she refuses his kindness.

He hangs up, albeit reluctantly, and Asami falls back into bed. When did her life get so royally screwed?

***

Korra’s commitment of never talking to Asami again doesn’t last long.

Mako and Bolin are in Ba Sing Se for the long weekend, which means that Asami’s time is spent slowly. None of her inventions interest her, she’s already finished all her homework, and there’s nobody else in all of Republic City who she cares to hang out with, save for Opal, who has returned home to Zaofu to see her family. Her father, per usual, is also out of town, leaving Asami to rot from boredom all alone in his mansion. She refuses to call it hers, to refer to it as home—it hasn’t been that for a while now.

Without school, her Friday afternoon moves at a snail’s pace. When she checks her watch to see that it’s only two in the afternoon, she groans. The one good thing about all this time is that she can think.

Asami had been replaying her fight with Korra ever since it happened on Monday. She wants to be resentful about the way Korra yelled at her, about the things they said to each other, but she can’t. That moment was the first time, at least for Asami, that they had been completely honest with each other. It didn’t solve anything, didn’t even come close, but Asami has gained a certain comfort in knowing that their relationship confuses Korra as much as it confuses her.

A sharp buzzing cuts through the room, pulling Asami from her thoughts. She doesn’t recognize the number, considers not answering, before boredom wins over and she picks up the phone.

“Hello?” she says.

Her blood runs cold at the voice on the other end of the line. “Sato.”

“What do you want?” she spits out, though the threatening tone falls flat. When Korra doesn’t reply, Asami huffs. “Listen, you have five seconds to say something before I hang up.”

“Please don’t!” Korra rushes out. “I’m sorry, I just—I didn’t know who else to call. I need your help, please. I messed up real bad.”

Asami stops at the panic in Korra’s voice. It’s so uncharacteristic, so  _ human _ of her, that Asami takes a moment to make sure that this is the same girl who proclaimed her hatred not four days ago.

Against her better judgement, Asami asks, “Where are you?” She tries to remain detached, but Korra’s nerves set her on edge.

Korra gives Asami an address, one not too far from her house, and Asami hangs up with the promise to be right there.

Sprinting to the garage, Asami fumbles with the keypad before finally getting the door to open. She grabs her spare helmet, securing it to the back of the bike while shoving her own helmet over her head. Not even bothering to put on her leather jacket or her gloves (so dangerous), she kicks her bike into gear and hurtles down the street, speed limit be damned.

Asami pulls up to the side of the road where Korra sits picking gravel out of her knee. There’s blood, not enough to cause serious alarm, but enough to look painful. She whips her helmet off and rushes to Korra’s side, crouching down to get a better look at her.

“Jesus, Korra, what—” Asami starts, quickly cut off by Korra.

“Please, just take me home.”

At Korra’s pleading eyes and cracked voice, Asami instantly obliges. She goes to grab Korra’s hands, but changes her mind once she sees that they’re caked in blood. Lifting Korra by her waist instead, Asami helps her to the bike before handing off her helmet to Korra, who protests.

“I’m not wearing your helmet,” she says.

“Yes,” Asami pushes, “you are. It’s safer than my spare. We’re not arguing about this.”

Korra’s mouth shuts and she puts the helmet on. Asami settles onto the bike after making sure that Korra is comfortable. Tilting her head backwards, she gently commands, “Hold on tight.” Korra’s hands hesitantly slide around Asami’s waist. Once she’s assured that they’re safe, Asami takes off, much slower than she had been on her ride there.

Asami parks the bike in the garage, taking extra care to not jostle Korra, unaware of the extent of her injuries. There are seven bathrooms in the entire house, all fully stocked with medical supplies, but Asami takes Korra to the bathroom attached to her bedroom. It’s across the house, certainly the most inconvenient one to go to, but Asami doesn’t stop to question her thought process, just keeps leading Korra.

When they arrive, Korra stands in the middle of the room, taking in her surroundings. Asami doesn’t let her stare in wonder for too long, though, because she really needs to check out Korra’s injuries.

Gesturing to the counter, she says, “Sit.”

Korra does, and she doesn’t speak as Asami rifles through her various cabinets searching for what she needs. When she has everything, Asami moves to touch Korra before thinking better of it. The last time they spoke...well, it doesn’t exactly invite intimate contact.

“Can I…?” Asami asks, trailing off. Korra shakes her head once, glancing away from Asami.

She begins in what she assumes is the safest place, the easiest to write off as non-sexual in any way, shape, or form. Korra had done a decent job of picking the gravel out of her knees, but small bits still remain in places that her fingernails couldn’t quite reach. Reaching for the tweezers, a warm hand grips her wrist before she can clean out the cuts.

“What are you doing?” Korra asks.

“Cleaning your cuts,” Asami states, mildly confused as to why Korra can’t tell that’s what she’s doing.

“Those look sharp.”

Asami chuckles. “Scared?”

Korra lifts her chin, glaring down her nose at Asami with false bravado. “Never.”

“Okay then,” Asami grins, “stop being a baby about it.”

As she goes back in, she hears Korra huff, “I’m not a baby,” and has to steady her hand as a silent laugh racks her body.

Cleaning the wound is tedious work, made worse by the way Korra’s knee jerks at the slightest contact. After five unsuccessful minutes, with barely three pieces of gravel picked out to show for it, Asami switches tactics. Bringing her left hand to rest halfway up Korra’s thigh, she pushes it down to stop any movement that could impede the work her right hand is doing. This seems to work, and she easily cleans the rest of the wound. Asami grabs the gauze, only to put it back down after assessing the tear of Korra’s jeans. She won’t be able to properly bandage and sterilize the wound with the shredded fabric impeding her.

“Hey, Korra,” Asami says after a minute of staring at her own hands.

Korra hums, clearly not paying attention.

Asami tugs at her jeans, feels Korra’s eyes flit to her as she says, “You’ve gotta take these off.”

Korra, for her part, just smirks, whatever fear she had felt before quickly replaced with familiar arrogance. “Trying to get me naked, Sato?”

“No.” Asami rolls her eyes. “I can’t fix this with your jeans in the way.”

“Okay,” Korra replies, drawing out the syllable in clear disbelief. She slips off the counter ungracefully, unbuttons her pants and begins to drag them down her hips as Asami blushes furiously. Blindly reaching out, she stops Korra when the jeans are just barely past her hip bones. Korra arches her eyebrow, a question flashing across her features.

“Just wait a minute,” Asami instructs, halfway out the door already. A sigh tumbles past her lips once she’s in the comfort of her bedroom. She sorts through drawers of clothes, settling on a pair of old athletic shorts for Korra to change into. Returning to the bathroom, Asami wordlessly hands Korra the shorts, leaving just as soon as she enters to give Korra privacy. After a moment, Korra pokes her head through the door, and Asami comes back.

“You could’ve stayed, you know,” Korra says as she retakes her place on the counter. Asami crouches in front of her.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“Just…you didn’t have to leave. It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”

Asami drops the gauze, gaze snapping up to Korra.

“We had freshmen gym together, Sato,” she points out.

“Oh,” Asami mutters, embarrassed by her flustered reaction.

Now that she’s in shorts, Asami can better observe the extent of the injury. Lower on her calf, the skin is rubbed red, likely from the jeans chafing when she...fell? Asami isn’t sure what happened, the subject seeming to be off-limits, but whatever it was wasn’t pretty.

Without looking up, Asami murmurs, “Extend your leg for me.”

Korra obeys, Asami ignoring the thrill that shoots through her from the way Korra bends to her will. Asami sprays antibacterial, Korra hissing as she does, and presses the gauze over it. She wraps medical tape around Korra’s knee, sitting back on her haunches when she finishes.

“Too tight?”

“No.”

“Good.” She stands, taking Korra’s right hand in her own. The blood has mostly dried, making it hard to see the actual cuts. “Come here for a sec,” she instructs.

Korra hops down to stand beside Asami, who turns the faucet on cold. Taking both of Korra’s wrists, Asami runs them under the cold water. She initially jerks away, but Asami is relentless in her pursuit and keeps Korra’s hands firmly in the sink.

“Let me help you,” she says when she feels Korra try to pull away again.

Korra deflates, allowing Asami leeway to wash the blood away. It swirls down the drain, turning more pink than red as it mixes with the water. Once the blood is gone, it’s clear that the source is four rough scrapes, one on each of her knuckles. Her left hand, in far better shape, only has several small vertical scratches on the fleshy heel of her palm from breaking what must have been a fall. The other injuries leave nothing to the imagination; Korra was in a fight. Asami ghosts her fingertips over Korra’s knuckles, and she watches as goosebumps erupt on Korra’s forearm. She gently dries both of their hands, pushing Korra back into the counter. Without needing to be told, she hops back up, holding out both of her hands for Asami.

Asami starts with the knuckles. She puts a long, thin occlusive bandage over all four knuckles, making sure it’s secured tight. Running her hand along the edge of the bandage, for no other reason than she feels like it, she contemplates the sudden fond nature with which they’re treating each other. She only sterilizes the palm of Korra’s hand, feeling that proper bandaging isn’t necessary. Before Asami gets the chance to assess the damage done to Korra’s face, the other girl taps Asami’s hands.

“You’re hurt,” she says. Asami takes this chance to glance at her hands, seeing the cracked and dry skin.

“It’s nothing, just a little windburn,” she brushes off.

“Does it hurt?”

Asami glances up at Korra, who sits almost eye-level with her. “No.”

The concern from Korra unsettles Asami, but she shakes off the awkwardness in favor of touching the cuts that litter the surface of Korra’s face: there’s a slit on the edge of her eyebrow, her lips are split in two places, and blood still trickles down her neck from a gash that runs along her jaw. A deep bruise colors her cheek, and Korra flinches when Asami’s fingers pass over it. Dried blood sits under her nose, but there aren’t any other visible injuries. 

Wetting a washcloth, Asami drags it across the dried blood. As she cleans down Korra’s neck, she feels the muscles tense and hears the shaky release of breath. Asami finishes wiping away the blood splattering her temple, only to aggravate the cut on her eyebrow, causing blood to spill once more.

“Shit,” Asami mutters.

Korra, who can probably feel what Asami’s just done, lashes out. “You made it worse!” She clutches the side of her face, dirtying the hands that Asami spent so long fixing. She knocks Korra’s hands away.

“Calm down. I didn’t make it worse.”

“Yes, you did! It’s bleeding!” Korra exclaims.

Speaking slowly, as if explaining something to a child, Asami says, “Your face has a lot of veins close to the surface. It’s not a big deal.”

“You still made it worse,” Korra pouts.

“Just shut up and hold still, will you?”

Exasperation seeps into her voice, and Korra relents. Asami puts a small bandage across the wound, hoping it will keep it shut and stop the bleeding. There’s not much she can do for the bruise, so she makes her way down to Korra’s jaw. The gash is shallow but long, the area around it burning red in irritation. Not wanting to spray the antibacterial near her face, Asami settles on rubbing Neosporin soothingly along the cut. The skin is rough here, Korra wincing as Asami trails her finger along her face. With the wound being an inconvenient spot, Asami forgoes covering it.

“There’s not much I can do here,” she says, just loud enough for Korra to hear, as she motions to the cuts on her lips.

Korra nods, standing now in front of Asami.

“Anything else?”

Suddenly sheepish, Korra won’t meet her eyes.

“Korra?” Asami prods.

“I, uh, I’m just...like...pretty sure I might’ve fucked up my ribs.”

“Oh,” Asami replies dumbly. “Alright. Well, I can take a look if you want?” She’s basically asking permission to touch Korra’s  _ bare _ abdomen. To check for injuries, of course. No other reason.

Instead of answering, like a normal fucking human being, Korra whips her shirt over her head, leaving her in just a sports bra. She nervously tangles her hand in her ponytail, waiting for some sign of approval from Asami.

Asami hovers her hand over the bottom of Korra’s bra, where she can see a large bruise beginning to color. She stills, searching for permission in the blue eyes that bore into her own, before pressing gently on the injury. Korra sharply inhales.

“Are you having trouble breathing?” Asami asks.

“No.”

“Does it hurt to twist?” She prods again at Korra’s ribs.

“No.”

“Can you move okay?” Now flattening her palm against Korra’s stomach, the defined muscles tensing.

“Yeah.”

Asami sighs. “I’m not a doctor, but I don’t think it’s broken. Other than telling you to take it easy, I don’t think there’s much else I can do.”

“Okay,” Korra breathes out. Asami then realizes that her hand is still splayed across Korra’s ribs, her thumb resting on the edge of her sports bra. Korra inhales sharply again, but it’s not from pain.

“Sato.” Korra murmurs in that same low, husky voice she had used in the locker room, right before they had almost—

_ No _ . That’s not what’s happening here. Korra made herself very clear: their relationship isn’t like that, doesn’t even have the possibility to become that. Asami yanks her hand back like she’s been burned. Turning around, hand already on the door knob, she shouts, “I’ll get some ice,” over her shoulder as she makes a hasty exit, leaving Korra to her own devices.

***

Korra doesn’t leave. At least, not right away.

After icing her ribs on and off for an hour, Korra had declared she was tired and marched right into Asami’s room, flopping onto her bed and promptly passing out. That was three hours ago, the clock now striking 6:30.

Asami, not wanting to risk being a creep, had abandoned her room in favor of sitting at the kitchen table, where she now labors over a sketch for one of her projects. She’s so absorbed in her work that she doesn’t realize Korra is awake until she plops down in the chair across from Asami.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Asami deadpans, not so much as glancing up from her sketch.

“Thank you,” Korra replies, tone far too serious for a response to the dry teasing from Asami, who sets her drafting pencil down.

“You okay?” Asami asks carefully.

Korra rubs the back of her neck and laughs nervously. “Yeah. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Asami chuckles. The silence between them hangs awkwardly, Korra balancing on the precipice of speaking. Asami beats her to it. “Is there something you needed?” It comes out far more judgemental than she intended, and she winces in time with Korra.

“I just wanted to apologize for Monday. And everything. So, yeah, I’m sorry,” Korra rushes out in one breath.

Asami quirks an eyebrow because as far as apologies go, it’s the worst one she’s heard in a while. Korra seems to agree, muttering a curse under her breath before speaking again.

“It wasn’t fair of me to be mad at you like I was. I know it’s not your fault that he kissed you, and that everything after that was just me pinning my anger on you. It was a stupid grudge to hold. I’m sorry for that. It’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth, and I figured you deserve that much. I’m also sorry for how I acted in gym and then at the party and then on Monday, too. I spent so long being a bitch to you for no good reason. I’m sorry, and I hope you can forgive me , but if you can’t that's fine, too.” 

Korra, confident as ever, makes eye contact with Asami the whole time, nothing but genuine remorse written on her face. Asami feels compelled to forgive her, tired of playing this hateful game.

“I understand, Korra, and I’m sorry, too. My attitude towards you certainly didn’t help. We’re both guilty for what’s happened.” She pauses, mustering strength to continue. “I forgive you.”

Korra beams. “Cool. I also forgive you,” she stutters, her calm swagger having vanished into thin air. “So, um, this might be too soon but since we’ve said all that, do you think we can try to be friends?”

Asami ponders the question. Until five minutes ago, she never even fathomed that friendship was a possibility for her and Korra, much less a reality. Throwing all doubts and caution to the wind because, really, this week can’t get any weirder, she flashes Korra a million dollar smile.

“Friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can they be friends? who knows. let me know what you think in the comments. thank you for all the kudos and comments you guys have already left, you're the best!  
> also, i promise to stop teasing you guys next chapter ;)


	4. Impatient, Insistent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things begin to spiral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! so sorry for the delay. i meant to get this out earlier, but i really struggled with this chapter. i wrote the whole thing, and then decided i hated it, and then went on a three mile walk in ten degree weather, and then decided to rewrite it. it's a little shorter than the other chapters, so i apologize for that. hope you enjoy!

Korra stays for dinner, and Asami doesn’t mind like she should. She supposes it comes with the territory—however unfamiliar that is for them.

Everything has changed. The animosity that once infected their every interaction has fizzled into nothingness, replaced by a fragile air of peace. To Asami, the afternoon feels like it belongs to someone else, like some fever dream that she’ll wake up from at any moment. Korra dances around her, careful not to cross the new line which now defines their relationship. It’s awkward, to say the least.

After an elongated moment of silence, both girls still sitting at the kitchen table avoiding eye contact, Asami starts, “Dinner?”

Korra jumps at the opportunity to ease the tension, vigorously shaking her head in approval.

“I don’t know what we have to eat,” Asami explains, “but I’m sure I can figure something out.”

Shuffling to the fridge, she opens it to find an unimpressive inventory: half a gallon of orange juice, three different expired salad dressings, and two eggs. She tells Korra their choices, who guffaws at the lack of food.

“You live in a house like this and _that’s_ all you have to eat? Really?” she asks.

“Yes,” Asami replies, turning to face her. “I usually just get take-out.”

Korra does another double-take. “You don’t have, like, a maid? Or a butler? Not even your mom cooks for you?” Asami tenses, but Korra forages on. “My mom cooks dinner every night.”

Asami strides to the drawer that contains all her take-out menus, eager to escape the conversation. “No.”

Sensing she’s made a mistake of some kind, Korra doesn’t continue speaking.

“What do you want?” Asami asks, flipping through each of the menus. “I’ve got pizza, Chinese, Mexican, sushi, subs…”

“Pizza is fine,” Korra says, her voice small and strained as if worried that any sudden, loud noises will scare Asami off.

“Do you have any preference?”

“Just get whatever.”

Asami huffs, crossing the room to grab her phone. She dials the number, knowing it by heart at this point, and a friendly man greets her by the second ring.

“Asami!” his wild voice booms. “It’s a little early in the week for your call. Not that I’m complaining.”

“Bumi,” she greets warmly. “I know it’s not my usual day, but I will just take the usual.”

“Sure thing.” There’s a clattering from the other line, a muttered curse, and then Bumi continues. “Your father still gone?”

“Yes. I do have a guest over, though.”

“Oh really?” She can hear his shit-eating grin from here. “I didn’t know you had friends.”

Asami blushes. “She’s not…” Asami trails off, unsure of how to define their relationship. Korra sits at the table picking her cuticles, but looks up to meet Asami’s eyes when she notices the silence. Korra attempts a smile—which ends up being more of a grimace—and goes back picking her cuticles.

Bumi chuckles and yanks Asami out of her thoughts. “I’ll be over in half an hour.

“See you then.” The line clicks dead, and Asami stays where she rests against the counter. She takes a moment to observe Korra, who sits unaware of Asami’s attention. Her injuries haven’t healed, but they look less agitated than they had before. She leans an elbow on the tabletop, legs pulled to her chest. Her hands lay half-open on top of her knees, palms up. Still in Asami’s shorts, she looks effortlessly beautiful in a way that Asami suspects only Korra can pull off. Her hair, Asami now notices, is cut short, the ends sloppy and unkempt as if someone with little experience had cut it.

“Your hair is shorter,” Asami states.

Self-consciously, Korra reaches up to play with it. “Yeah. I got it done yesterday.”

“It suits you.”

“Thanks,” Korra replies shyly, now staring at her hands.

Silence fills the empty space, dividing them like a canyon. Neither moves to speak, and neither makes eye contact. Asami twists her fingers. She waits until she can’t take it anymore, voicing a question that’s been on her mind since the afternoon.

“So, what’s up with your face?” Korra’s gaze snaps up, meeting Asami with uncertainty. “I mean, I know it’s like that”—she gestures vaguely at Korra—“but why?”

“For fun,” she replies nonchalantly, an easy grin tugging at her lips.

Asami tilts her head back. “Korra,” she groans, drawing out the syllables.

“Sato,” Korra mocks in the same tone.

She levels Korra with an unimpressed look. Pushing herself off the counter, Asami dramatically plops down in the seat she was in before.

“My bathroom is covered in blood. I feel like you owe me an explanation.”

Korra sighs. “Fine. I was in a fight.”

Ignoring the twist in her chest at the thought of somebody hurting Korra, Asami morphs her face into a teasing grin. “So that’s why you didn’t wanna tell me. You got your ass beat, didn’t you?”

Korra’s jaw drops in disbelief. “I didn’t get my ass beat!”

Asami just smiles and looks away. “Sure,” she hums under her breath.

“I didn’t!” Korra insists. “Honest.”

“If it helps you sleep at night…” Asami mutters as she stands and passes Korra to grab a glass of water. With her back turned, she reaches for a glass from the top shelf. She fills it with water, preparing to go back to the table, and almost drops her drink in surprise when she turns to find Korra standing in front of her.

“Jesus, Korra, you scared me.”

Korra’s eyes are wide. “I didn’t lose the fight,” she says, tone hard.

“Okay,” Asami replies slowly, setting her glass on the counter behind her. She scans Korra, trying to figure out what caused this change in her demeanor. She seems frantic somehow, like Asami not believing her is the worst thing that could’ve happened.

“I’m not weak.”

Asami is taken aback by the declaration. Korra may be a lot of things, but Asami has never mistaken her for weak. “I know, Korra.”

Korra takes a step back, breaking eye contact as she moves. She cracks her right knuckles. As she’s about to crack her left ones, Asami closes the distance between them and takes both of Korra’s hands in her own.

“Don’t do that,” she murmurs softly. “You’ll tear them open again.”

“Sorry.” The sheepish tone with which Korra replies throws Asami even more off-guard. Since their earlier truce, Korra’s behavior has turned into something unrecognizable. She jokes with Asami like they’re old friends, like none of their fights had ever happened, but then in these still moments, she becomes shy, stilted, as if this whole situation is completely out of left field. To be fair, it is, but Asami is having trouble relating the girl in front of her to the Korra that she knows. They’re two different people.

Still staring at their now-entwined hands, Asami misses it when Korra leans in. Korra’s fingers tighten around hers, thumb rubbing small circles on her hand. It mesmerizes Asami—this simple, calming touch, and it distracts her from the lack of space between them.

“Asami.” Maybe it’s the way that her name sounds unfamiliar on Korra’s tongue, or the needy way it falls from her lips, but heat suddenly drops to Asami’s stomach, and she doesn’t mind at all.

She glances up to see Korra already looking at her, want written across her face and pupils dilated.

“Korra,” Asami breathes, their faces inching closer still. She closes her eyes, can feel their foreheads touch. It only takes a moment before she feels the kiss, a faint brushing of their mouths, so soft Asami isn’t sure it’s really there. 

A sharp ring cuts through the air, ending their kiss before it can begin. They jump apart, and Asami glances at Korra, who has become entirely too interested in the floor.

“You should get that,” Korra mutters. Her voice is tight, with what Asami can’t tell, but it’s nothing good. As she goes to answer the door, her heart clenches. Their tentative friendship might be over before it could even start, and somehow that stings more than not being able to take the kiss further.

Asami trudges out of the kitchen, leaving Korra alone, and opens the front door. Bumi greets her with a mischievous glint in his eyes that Asami has learned permanently resides there.

“Surprise!” he shouts. “I’m early. I told you half an hour but it’s only been fifteen minutes. Did I get ya?”

Asami contains her sigh. “Yes, Bumi, you got me real good.”

He shoots her a toothy grin as he hands her the pizza box. Asami balances it in one hand, reaching for her back pocket with the other, but Bumi stops her.

“On the house, kid,” he says, leaning forward slightly.

Asami scrunches her face. “Oh, no, really, that’s okay. I can pay you.”

Bumi reaches out to touch her upper arm. “I know you can. I just figured my best customer should get a discount. You and your friend have fun, Asami.”

“She’s not—” Asami starts, but he’s already down the driveway and out of earshot. Asami groans, and momentarily considers how rude it would be to sneak out of the house, before deciding she just needs to face the music.

Korra sits at the dining table with her back to Asami. Wordlessly, Asami strides into the kitchen and sets the box on the table. She grabs two plates, placing one in front of Korra as she sits down. Korra moves to lift the box’s lid at the same time Asami does, their hands brushing together briefly. Korra yanks her hands back like she’s been touched by fire. Asami casts her eyes down, sets all her focus on opening the box.

The instant she flips the lid open, Korra is grabbing five slices and piling them on her plate. She avoids Asami, who does her best not to gape at Korra’s appetite. They don’t speak, and they don’t look at each other, and time passes slowly through the awkward tension they’ve created.

“So,” Asami hesitantly says, “how’s basketball?”

Korra pauses. Her mouth is full, and she takes a moment to finish before quietly answering. “School season doesn’t start until December.” She stares at her plate as she speaks.

“Right,” Asami mutters to herself.

They spend the rest of their shared meal in silence, and for Asami, that’s worse than being alone.

***

After twiddling her thumbs for fifteen minutes while waiting for Korra to finish eating, Asami had finally decided to continue her sketching from earlier. It’s all so domestic, though not particularly friendly. They don’t seem capable of comfortably coexisting in each other’s space as something other than hostile, especially not after they kissed. Neither has mentioned it, and Asami doesn’t want to be the first to open that floodgate. If Korra wants to talk about it, then she can make the first move.

“Asami,” Korra says. The sudden break in silence causes Asami to ungracefully drop her pen, eyes snapping up to meet Korra’s. It looks like Korra will make the first move after all. Not trusting her voice, Asami just nods in acknowledgment. She knows where she hopes this conversation will go, but she can’t be sure. What comes out of Korra’s mouth is so shocking, so unexpected, that for a moment Asami forgets the kiss, forgets that they’re supposed to be friends now.

“What happened to your mom?” Korra asks.

“What the fuck?” is Asami’s instant reply, the only tangible thought her brain is able to form.

Korra, at least, has the conscience to look guilty about the brash manner with which she spoke. “I’m sorry. That sounded bad. It’s just that you look so sad when you talk about her, and you live in this massive house alone, and it’s all just making me realize that I don’t really know you,” Korra rushes out.

“ _That’s_ what you want to talk about right now?” Asami asks incredulously. “Seriously, Korra?”

Yet again, Asami finds that they are on completely different pages in completely different books.

Korra looks genuinely confused, much to Asami’s irritation. “Yes? Is there something else I should want to talk about?”

Asami guffaws, waving her hands wildly because she doesn’t know how else to express herself. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that we kissed!” she all but shouts. Korra winces.

Becoming suddenly interested in playing with her own hands, Korra absently responds, “We don’t have to talk about that.”

“Shouldn’t we, though?”

“No,” Korra says, sterner this time. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

“So you just wanna leave it at that?” Asami pushes.

“I mean, yeah, kinda. That wasn’t obvious?”

Asami scoffs, standing from the table. “You are unbelievable.”

She storms out of the room, not even bothering to tell Korra to leave; she figures that part is pretty self-explanatory. Korra, who is apparently unable to take a hint, stumbles after Asami down the hall.

“Wait, Asami, shit, I know that sounded bad, but—” Korra stutters, but Asami cuts her off.

“Yeah, it seems that a lot of the things you say sound bad. Maybe you should just shut up,” Asami huffs as she spins on her heel to face Korra, who grimaces and takes a step back.

“Okay, I deserved that,” she concedes. “But can you just listen to me for a second?”

“No. I don’t want to hear it.”

She whips back around, turning so violently that she almost trips as she continues walking. Her hands shake in anger, her body flushed with red-hot embarrassment. Of course Korra didn’t actually mean to kiss her. Why would she? Asami can’t believe how foolish she’s been acting all day, just praying that Korra might like her when Korra has never been anything but awful. Korra, who has probably been toying with Asami from the start. She fell for it so easily, so willingly, and Asami’s heart aches at the thought that all of this—the tenderness and the friendship and the kiss—were all part of some game Korra is playing to get back at Asami.

“Asami, c’mon! Just stop for a second,” Korra calls after her.

Asami has finally had enough. She stops at the base of the stairs, facing Korra. “No, Korra. I’m done. You win, okay, so you can stop whatever sick revenge fantasy you’ve been playing out. Just go home. I don’t want to see you anymore.” Asami’s voice cracks at the end, and she finds herself becoming more tired than angry.

She turns away, fully prepared to sulk upstairs and leave Korra standing there, when a scoff echoes from behind her. Before she knows it, a calloused hand is grabbing her wrist, yanking her back and pinning her against the railing.

It happens all at once, slow enough for her to register the change in atmosphere but fast enough that her body can’t respond in time. Korra’s lips are chapped, rough, in direct contrast to the soft nature of the kiss. Korra kisses like she has something to prove. Maybe she does. Just as Asami is beginning to react, Korra pulls back.

“Has anybody ever told you that you talk too much?” she asks, a little breathless.

Asami’s mind is having trouble catching up to reality. She shakes her head. “What?”

Korra grins. “I said—”

“No, I know what you said. I just…” Asami trails off as she attempts to mentally connect the dots. This is not how this conversation was supposed to go.

“You also think too much,” Korra says, leaning in.

Despite her body screaming in protest, Asami leans away from Korra. “And you don’t think enough. You can’t just go around kissing people, Korra.”

Korra quirks an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

Asami nods, mostly just to be petulant (and maybe also to distract herself from the way her heart has dropped to her stomach).

“Watch me,” Korra says, wrapping her hands around Asami’s neck and pulling her down for another kiss.

Korra is good at most things she does, and kissing, as it turns out, is no exception. Her hands slide down Asami’s back, finding purchase on her hips. Asami wraps herself around Korra, hands constantly moving, trying to touch every inch of Korra that she can reach. Their lips slot together, and Korra bites down on Asami’s bottom lip. She moans, and Korra smirks, and right then and there Asami knows she’s done for. They’ve crossed a line, entered a new threshold that now defines their relationship. It excites Asami, scaring her less than it probably should.

“You’re such a little shit,” Asami breathes when they break the kiss.

“Yeah, but you’re into it.”

She refuses to admit Korra is right, moves to kiss her neck instead. She lets her hands wander up Korra’s side, ghosting over her chest, satisfied with the sharp inhale she gets in return. Asami bites the spot where Korra’s neck meets her shoulder, soothing it with her tongue. She wants to kiss lower, to take her time exploring everything that Korra has to offer, but there’s too much fabric in her way. Their kiss becomes impatient, insistent, as Asami grows frantic in her pursuit of being closer to Korra.

Tugging at the hem of Korra’s shirt, she commands, “Take this off.”

Korra steps away. Slowly, tauntingly, Korra lifts her shirt off, dropping it to the floor at her feet. Asami swallows thickly, mesmerized by the taut muscles on display. Not wanting to waste another second, she grabs Korra, dragging her upstairs and into the nearest bedroom. She takes stock of her surroundings long enough to gather that they’re in a guest bedroom, the impersonal setting somehow fitting for the direction their night is heading. If Asami had taken even a moment to consider the situation, she would have realized that what they’re doing can’t be taken back, that it will irrevocably change their dynamic yet again. But when they stumble to the bed, falling down in a tangle of limbs and lips, she really can’t be bothered to put much thought into anything beside touching Korra.

Korra ends up on top. Asami hooks her heel around Korra’s calf, ready to flip them, but then Korra is kissing down her neck and sliding her hands up Asami’s shirt and touching Asami’s chest like she’s done this before, like Korra has _touched_ other girls, and that alone is enough to make Asami compliant. When Korra comes up, hot breath tickling Asami’s ear, and whispers, “I’m gonna make you feel so good,” Asami nods her head so eagerly that she ought to be embarrassed about it. Korra just grins, her thumb settling below the waistband of Asami’s shorts while her other hand unclasps Asami’s bra under her shirt. Asami sits up and pulls both her shirt and her bra off, discarding them in a random corner of the room.

Korra pushes her back down into bed, hands already grazing Asami’s sides. When Asami reaches around to take Korra’s bra off, Korra grabs both of her wrists and holds them above her head, her lips never once stopping their trail down Asami’s bare chest.

“Korra,” Asami groans, already out of breath.

Korra sits back on her haunches to look at Asami, her thighs bracketing Asami’s hips. “Let me do this for you. Just this once,” she pleads.

Asami isn’t sure what’s changed in the past minute, but the desperation in Korra’s voice is as new as it is unsettling. Korra leans back down for a breathtaking kiss, bringing their chests flush together. The contact makes Asami’s head spin, makes the throbbing between her legs grow tenfold. Korra’s hands slide around Asami’s ribcage, fingers light and teasing. She trails a hand up the length of Asami’s arms, grazing her collarbones before finally cupping Asami’s cheek. The kiss itself is slow, chaste, like Korra is trying to memorize something she can only have for a second. It confuses Asami, this hesitant tenderness, but she doesn’t put much stock in that thought, just kisses Korra a little longer. 

She strains against Korra’s hold on her hands, desperate to touch Korra and not liking the feeling of being out of control. Korra doesn’t break the kiss, just makes her way across Asami’s face until she’s biting at the sensitive skin where Asami’s jaw meets her neck.

“I’ll let you go if you promise to keep your hands to yourself,” she murmurs, sending goosebumps down Asami’s spine. Asami earnestly agrees and Korra releases her. She kisses Asami with an open mouth, all heat and speed and imprecision. It’s such a change in pace to her earlier gentleness that it takes Asami a moment to reciprocate. When she does, things begin to snowball.

Korra kisses her way down Asami’s neck, sucking at her collarbone, leaving a mark there before moving on. Her fingers trace up and down Asami’s side. It’s so distracting that for a moment Asami forgets where she is, who she’s with. She quickly remembers when Korra makes her way to Asami’s chest, lingering there. Her hands touch every inch of Asami’s body, and by the time Korra slides further down Asami, she’s wound so tight that the tension might break at any moment.

Korra drags Asami’s shorts down along with her underwear, so agonizingly slow that Asami has half a mind to tell her to hurry up, already impatient. Instead of giving Asami what she needs, Korra rubs slow, small circles over Asami’s hip while kissing her chest. It’s nothing, really, not even enough contact to be particularly noticeable, but as her thumb makes another pass, Asami skyrockets so hard that her hips snap upwards and Korra stops all movement. Asami winces, thoroughly embarrassed.

“Did you…?” Korra asks, braced on her forearms and looking down at Asami.

“No.” She tucks her face in the crook of her elbow, determined to hide from Korra.

Korra moves her arm away, leaning so close that their noses brush. “Don’t worry about it. It was kinda hot,” she says before kissing Asami deeply.

Korra moves slower, taking her time to explore Asami. Now, she never strays from touching the safe zones, never gives Asami what she really needs. It’s distracting, and infuriating, and so fucking _hot_.

When Korra goes to leave faint touches on Asami’s inner thigh for the third time, Asami catches her wrist, breaking her earlier promise of keeping her hands to herself. Korra doesn’t seem to mind—her face is lit up in pure mirth, the corners of her mouth quirked in amusement.

“Korra,” Asami breathes hotly. “Stop being a tease.”

Korra flashes her a grin, and then she’s touching Asami in all the right places. Korra’s experience (so _fucking_ hot) shines through; she curls her fingers and uses her palm and whispers sweet nothings as her hands set Asami ablaze everywhere they trail. Asami has never been easy, has always prided herself on her stamina, but she’s so turned on and Korra is doing everything right and it only takes one final curl of Korra’s fingers and a sloppy kiss for her to come undone.

While Asami comes down from her high, Korra leaves light kisses at the corner of her mouth. Just as Asami begins to feel as though she has regained control over her breathing, Korra lips and hands begin to wander all over again. Korra kisses down her stomach, and Asami groans in anticipation. She can feel Korra’s grin against her skin, and it drives her absolutely crazy. When Korra sucks a hickey at her hip bone, Asami finally catches on to her intentions.

“Korra,” she warns, not sure if this is somewhere they should be heading.

“I want to,” Korra assures as she plants a kiss on the top of Asami’s thigh. She stops, glancing up hesitantly. “Unless you don’t want to?”

She decides that if they’ve already gone this far, she might as well enjoy it. “I want to.”

Korra beams up at her, and it all feels so out of place and out of body, but Asami doesn’t dare stop it. Korra doesn’t stop, either, and she coaxes one orgasm after another out of Asami until she’s spent and the moon has reached its peak in the night sky. Korra rolls off of her. They lay side by side, the echoes of their heavy breathing being the only noise in the room. Ignoring the ache in her legs, Asami props herself on her elbow, ready to return the favor. She leaves a trail of kisses on the side of Korra’s neck, letting her hand roam Korra’s bare stomach. She realizes then that Korra is still clothed, barring her previously discarded shirt. As Asami inches closer to the waistband of Korra’s shorts, she can feel Korra tense. Suddenly, her hand is being pushed away.

“You don’t have to do that,” Korra says, still staring at the ceiling.

Asami lets out a short laugh. “I want to. It’s the least I can do.”

“I said no.” The change in tone leaves Asami thoroughly taken aback. Korra rolls on to her side, back to Asami. “Night, Sato.”

Still confused as to what she did wrong, Asami mutters, “Goodnight, Korra.”

They leave it at that, and Asami ignores the sinking feeling that grows deep inside her.

***

Korra has been asleep for an hour by the time Asami’s eyes begin to drift shut. She reflects on the day, on the constant shifting of their relationship: enemies to friends to something in between to lovers to—

To what? There isn’t a clear definition. So many lines have been crossed and redefined and blurred that all Asami is left with is an indecipherable tangle of interactions that hardly make sense anymore.

The tension hasn’t left her body; she still lays stiffly at Korra’s side, not a single point of contact shared between them. As sleep washes over her, she sighs. A faint hope that they can work this out in the morning—that there’s some ending of this strange night where Asami gets to have Korra, in any capacity—settles in a far corner of her mind, lulling her to sleep with a false sense of security.

When Asami awakes the next morning, it’s to an empty bed and the distinct feeling that she’s just been used.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm still not really happy with this, but it sets up the other chapters nicely so there's always that. let me know what you think in the comments. as always, thank you for the comments and kudos. i really appreciate it!


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